


Hunting Games

by parsnipit



Series: Of Trying and Towers [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, inspired mostly by eragon tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsnipit/pseuds/parsnipit
Summary: Thomas and the sides (as well as their great dragons, and one supremely tolerant Erest) practice a hunting game a few years after the events of “Of Trying and Towers.”





	Hunting Games

Roman’s breath comes in a smooth, measured tempo as he creeps through the forest. He listens carefully to each little sound that surrounds him—the rasp of grass and leaves beneath his boots, the whistle of the breeze, the flutter of wings as birds dart nervously above him. The birds do not sing. They will not sing, not with the world’s largest predator so very close to them. Wise of them, Roman thinks. Very, very wise.

Roman relaxes some as he sees the glint of sunlight off of the lake—their rendezvous point. He pauses some thirty feet away from the water, pressing himself against a sturdy pine tree. His dark trousers and jacket blend into the bark, and he narrows his eyes, scanning the forest around the lake—he sees nothing but dark greens and browns. But that only comforts him some—dark green can be, after all, very dangerous.

After a few moments of quiet and wary observation, Roman prowls forward, pausing at the edge of the lake. He cups his hands around his mouth, mimicking the quiet cry of a cardinal. In the absence of all other birdsong, it’s a clear call. The seconds stretch, agonizingly long, and then Roman sees a flash of auburn and purple within the forest—his dragon. Relief floods his chest, and he quickly moves towards the enormous shape stalking towards the lake. Part one of their mission: accomplished.

“Khylon,” he whispers, pausing a short distance from the great dragon. Their head swings around, violet eyes locking with his. They lower their snout, nudging his chest affectionately. He wraps his arms around their muzzle, scratching beneath their chin. “Hello there, little one. Well done. Did anyone see you on your way here?”

“Not that I know of,” Khylon says, their voice a soft rumble. “If they did, they did not attempt to ambush me—though perhaps they were waiting until I led them to you. That would indeed be quite clever.” They pull their head back, lifting it—they can  nearly reach the tops of the forest’s branches, now, and Roman is amazed by how quickly they’ve grown in the past few years. Their tongue flicks out, tasting the air, before they report, “I do not smell anyone. We are safe.”

Roman nods, resting a hand on their side. “Then we must go. The sun is beginning to set and we need to find Erest before night comes—Virgil will throw a fit if we’re out too late again.”

Khylon chuckles, lowering a paw to the ground and upturning it. Roman climbs into the center of their paw and Khylon gently curls their black talons around him, lifting him to their shoulder and releasing him. He climbs over their shoulder and settles into the slope at the base of their neck with ease born of familiarity, squeezing with his legs and tangling his fingers in the thick violet fur of their mane.

“Are you settled well?” Khylon asks, rising to their full height—even with all four feet on the ground, their shoulders brush the branches, and he can’t imagine they’re very comfortable in such a cramped forest.

“I am,” Roman says, patting their neck gently. “Let’s go.”

Khylon slips forward, ducking beneath the shortest of trees until they stand at the edge of the lake. They spread their massive auburn wings, and from tip to tip, they span nearly the entire width of the small lake. Soon, this will be too small a place for them to take off from without tangling their wings in the forest. They stretch their wings for a moment, the sunlight glimmering against the vibrant orange membranes, and then they crouch and spring forward, wings hammering at the air as they bound across the lake.

The water is shallow in the heat of summertime, and it barely reaches their elbows. Within a few wide strides, their wings have caught the air and they begin to lift. Roman feels warm thermals sweep up off of the water, and he sees Khylon stretch their wings to catch them, allowing them both to be billowed upwards. Soon, they glide in wide circles high above the lake and the forest. The sky engulfs them on all sides, fierce and wide and spotlessly blue.

Blue, however, is also a dangerous color.

“Quickly as you can,” Roman encourages, standing up on Khylon’s back once they’ve evened out, beginning to soar north over the forest. “I will keep watch for your hatchmates and Erest if you will try to find their scents.”

“Very well,” Khylon agrees, flapping their wings more swiftly every few minutes to increase the rate of their glide. Roman paces up and down their back, though he dares not go out onto their tail—not until they’re larger and he’s more confident. As he paces, he peers off to each side, below them, and above them every few seconds. It will not do to be ambushed in the sky, especially when he’s not in harness.

“Look there,” he says suddenly, spotting a flash of white beneath them, flying slowly and staying low to the ground. Although Erest has come a long way since his wings were too weak to fly at all, he seldom has the strength to fly far above the treetops. The Queen’s damage remains, and they must work to fix it every day. Erest knows that better than most. “The white spot. Is that Erest?”

Khylon dips their left wing, banking lower, and Roman crouches on their back to keep his balance. “I believe it is—I can smell him on the breeze.” They wrinkle their nose. “He still smells like fish. Shall we go and catch him?”

“I don’t know,” Roman says, hesitating. “It seems too easy, doesn’t it? It seems like a trick.”

“Ah—you are beginning to sound like Virgil,” Khylon says, their voice laced with amusement. “Perhaps it is a trick. But if we are fast, then perhaps it will be a  _foiled_ trick.”

Roman considers this for a moment, then grins. That’s the kind of foolhardy plan he lives for. “Right you are,” he says, strolling back to the base of Khylon’s neck and settling into his spot, holding tightly to their mane. “Let’s go get ‘em, Khy. Let’s show ‘em who the  _real_  winners are!”

Khylon hisses in fervent agreement, folding their wings and diving steeply towards Erest. Roman clings tightly to them, his legs squeezing their neck as the wind buffets his hair and face. When they’re several hundred feet away, Erest’s body tenses mid-air, his tail lashing. He doesn’t need to see them (barely could if he tried, anyhow, with his albino eyes) but he can certainly hear them and smell them, when they’re this close. Khylon roars their challenge, and the noise echoes through the forest. Everyone will know where they’re at now—and everyone will be able to watch them win.

Erest returns their challenge with a crackling roar of his own, his wings folding as he falls into a dive. He moves quickly down towards the forest, where Khylon won’t be able to maneuver in the air, and Khylon growls in frustration. Roman tugs at their mane, shouting over the wind, “Slow down! Don’t hit the trees!”

Kylon flares their wings, pulling them both to a stop mid-air as Erest vanishes into the safety of the forest—and then suddenly darts right back out, heading straight for them. Khylon back-flaps, snarling in surprise, and they both suddenly see what Erest is running from—an enormous blue dragon is scrambling up and out of the forest, slamming branches out of the way with its wings as it tries desperately to fly out of the midst of the trees.

“Bethious,” Khylon hisses in astonishment. “How much forest must he have broken to take off from there? It’s simply illogical— _and_  environmentally unfriendly.”

Roman snorts, tugging on Khylon’s mane to encourage them to retreat faster, before Bethious gains his speed. “Well, don’t tell Logan that, darling,” he says. “He’ll throw a fit.”

Khylon rumbles out a laugh, flapping their wings and heading to the side, leaving Bethious behind them and gliding above Erest as he heads further south. They dart down every few seconds, stretching their talons out to catch Erest, as though they’re fishing above a stream—but Erest avoids every grasp, his smaller body darting and weaving easily away from them every time they get too close. He flits between the highest branches of the trees, and Khylon’s talons snag on them whenever they near him.

“Watch Bethious,” Khylon orders as they flap up and away from the trees for a brief break, their wings straining to catch the air. “Where is he?”

Roman turns around, squinting into the setting sun. Bethious has finally flapped his way above the trees—and Roman still can’t believe Logan allowed the dragon to do such a foolish thing as taking off from within the forest—and is gliding above the forest, fussing with the leaves and brambles tangled around his wings. He can see Logan helping Bethious untangle his talons, too, a scowl on his face.

“He’s behind and above us—still trying to de-tangle himself,” Roman says, snorting in amusement. “We’re safe for a while yet—try and corner Erest.”

“Ah, and here I was, planning to let him escape. Whatever would I do without such a wise princeling to guide me?” Khylon teases, dipping down again and swiping at the air just behind Erest as he ducks down again. “Ereeeest—come heeeere, Erest-Erest-Erest,” they call, their lips pulling back from their teeth. Erest huffs at them, smoke trailing from his nostrils, and flaps harder. They’re quickly moving towards the waterfall at the edge of the forest, and Roman taps his heels against Khylon’s shoulder, urging them on faster. If they don’t catch Erest before the waterfall, they lose.

Behind them, Bethious bellows, and Roman whirls around, keeping one wary eye on the large blue dragon as he gains speed once his wings are clear of debris. His wings are larger and wider than Khylon’s, and he’s heavier—faster, if he wants to dive this close to the trees (which, judging by his prior decisions, Roman doesn’t put past him). “Bethious is gaining,” Roman shouts over the wind, leaning forward against Khylon’s neck. “We need to cut Erest off—”

“Hang on,” Khylon says grimly, suddenly pulling upwards with a few mighty flaps of their wings. Roman’s face nearly has a  _very_  intimate and sudden meeting with their neck as they arch back, but he jerks back at the last moment, clinging desperately to their mane as they plunge higher into the sky. Their wings pump hard, chest heaving with enormous breaths as they fight their way higher and higher—far above Bethious, who takes advantage of their position, moving in to glide above Erest though he, too, finds it difficult to catch the smaller dragon.

“What’s the plan?” Roman asks, squeezing his eyes shut against the blast of the cold wind as Khylon finally evens out, coasting high above Erest and the forest.

“You will see—hang on tightly to my mane. I would not have you fall,” Khylon warns, jaws open as they work to catch their breath. “I am going to cut Erest off just before the waterfall, if all goes well. If it does not, we will be going for a very abrupt swim.”

“Oh, boy,” Roman says, shaking his hands out for a moment before tangling his fingers back into Khylon’s mane—this is shaping up to be a maneuver he would  _definitely_ rather do in harness. “Is this something that’s going to piss Virgil off?”

“Quite possibly,” Khylon agrees. “Now—let us  _win.”_

They suddenly fold their wings in, clamping them to their sides and plummeting down towards Erest. Their wings spread only to adjust their course, keeping Khylon’s muzzle aimed just in front of Erest’s as they gain speed. Roman’s stomach is in his throat as they dive, and he whoops in excitement, laughing into the wind—winners or not, this is  _incredible._  Khylon roars joyfully in agreement, and Bethious suddenly glances up, his eyes widening. He jerks back—under Logan’s instruction, no doubt—and leaves Erest clear for the two of them to cut off.

Erest notices as soon as they roar, too, however—but he can’t go backwards, lest Bethious catch him. He drops, instead, diving for the shelter of the forest—he whips back away from the clearing in front of the waterfall, and Khylon screeches in dismay before they slam into the water. Luckily, Khylon flails at the last second, and they strike the water with their side first, sparing Roman the brunt of the impact. The water quickly floods over both of their heads, but Roman keeps a tight hold on Khylon, trusting the dragon to right them both as quickly as possible—if he were to let go, he has no doubt that Khylon might accidently push him further into the water with their struggles.

Within seconds, Khylon proves him right, thrusting their head up and above the water and gasping for air. They paddle hard, and their shoulders break through the waves next. Roman tips his head back, sucking in gulps of air and shaking his wet hair from his face. “Roman? Roman, are you alright?” they call, whipping their head around to fix him with a wide, startled gaze.

“I am alright,” Roman assures them, reaching forward and placing a hand on their warm muzzle. “Rest well. That was a very brave attempt.”

“Attempt?” Khylon asks indignantly. “Why, I am not done yet!”

Roman yelps in surprise as they plunge towards the river’s edge, tightening his grip as they surge up and onto the bank. Water streams down their scales, and the sunset light glints, gaudy and bloodred, through the droplets. Ahead of them, Erest has perched in the branches of an enormous oak tree. His neck is arched, and his pale pink eyes watch them passively, though his wings are still half-spread.

“Khylon! Khylon, are you well?” Bethious calls above them, gliding in anxious circles over the treetops. “And what of Roman?”

“We are well,” Khylon announces, prowling towards Erest, their tail lashing behind them and their talons sinking into the soft dirt beneath them. “And we are about to—”

“Win!” The dark green brush behind Erest suddenly moves violently, revealing itself to be a dragon as it surges forward and leaps into the tree. Erest shrieks in surprise, his wings flapping urgently as the branch snaps beneath him, but he’s quickly trapped against a broad green chest. Fico slithers carefully back down the tree, laughing cheerfully, her voice lisping as she declares, “We win! Take that!”

“Oh!” Khylon makes a frustrated sound as they bound forward, scowling at Fico. “Now, that’s not fair, at all!”

“I don’t see how it’s not—at least, not any more unfair than you and Bethious having the ability to fly when I don’t,” Fico says haughtily, gently setting Erest down and patting his back. Khylon huffs, but snaps their jaws shut, defeated. “Well played, Erest-dear. How do you fare?”

“I’m fine,” Erest says, shaking out his wings and stretching. “A bit weary, but no worse for wear—you’re all getting faster. I do believe we finished before sunset.”

_“Barely,”_  Virgil points out from his spot on Fico’s back, patting her shoulder as he slides down to the ground. He stretches himself out and Fico purrs, dropping her head and headbutting his back affectionately. He ruffles the soft red fur of her mane, arching an eyebrow at Roman. “And you, Mr. Prince—that was a risky stunt you pulled.”

“It was Khylon’s idea,” Roman declares, pointing at the dragon, who snorts chilly air in his direction. He drops to the ground from their back, his boots thumping against the ground. Behind him, Bethious lands in the river that streams away from the waterfall, flapping his wings. “Mm—but I must admit, I agreed.”

“I know,” Virgil says, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he crosses to Roman’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. “They wouldn’t have done it if you’d said no. Were you sure?”

“I was sure,” Roman assures him, brushing Virgil’s hair back to meet his eyes, studying him carefully. A smile flickers across his face, and he leans down, pressing their lips together before murmuring, “I was  _very_ sure, my sweetheart.”

“Well, then,” Virgil says, pulling back after a moment and offering Roman a little grin. “I suppose I can’t complain. I trust your judgement, little prince—and you’re both happy and whole. All is well.”

“All is well,” Roman agrees, combing his fingers soothingly through Virgil’s hair before they turn to greet Logan and Bethious as they clamber onto the bank.

“That was a clever win, Fico,” Logan praises, crossing over to her and stroking her muzzle. “Very well thought-out. I’m proud of you.”

Fico purrs more loudly, quite satisfied with herself as she nuzzles into Logan’s chest. “Coming from you, that is high praise indeed, Logan—thank you.”

“It was very good!” Bethious agrees enthusiastically, flapping his wings in excitement and spraying them all with droplets of water—not that Roman minds, soaked as he already is. “Very good and very smart, Fico! I wish I would have thought of that—not that I would have blended into the forest very well.” He hums thoughtfully, tucking his wings against his sides.

“Well, you certainly tried your best,” Khylon says, snorting and ambling back into the water. “I can’t believe you, taking off out of the forest like that—Logan, what were you thinking, to let him do that?”

“You say that as though I have any control over him,” Logan says wryly, although he pats Bethious’ leg fondly as he climbs back onto him. “Back to the waterfall, you three. Let’s get you all cleaned up and home before it’s completely dark out.”

Virgil climbs back onto Fico, and Roman follows him up, snuggling close as Fico wades into the river. They swim out to the waterfall, where Thomas and Patton are waiting for them on the bank, along with buckets of soap and polish and thick rags. Patton waves enthusiastically as they near, hopping up and down in excitement. “Well done, Fico!” he calls cheerfully as Fico sets her head on the bank next to him. He pats her snout happily, his eyes shining. “How brilliant you are! Oh, I’m so  _proud—”_

“It was a good game, all of you,” Thomas says, patting each of the dragon’s snouts as they lay their heavy heads on the bank. “You get better each time. As do you three—” He winks at the sides, and Roman beams, climbing down onto the bank with Virgil and patting Thomas’ shoulder.

“We get it from you,” he declares, ruffling Thomas’ dark hair. He reaches for one of the heavy rags, dipping it into the soap as the dragons swim to the waterfall, dousing themselves beneath it before returning to the bank. “Now, then—bathtime!”

The five of them wade into the water, carefully helping the dragons scrub their scales and manes and antlers free of dirt and grime. Bethious is especially picky, so Logan spends extra time with him, rubbing soap into his mane until it’s stark white once again. Patton spends most of his time with Erest, gently running a softer rag along the pale dragon’s scars and talking soothingly to him. Once all four dragons have been cleaned, they swim back beneath the waterfall, allowing the pounding water to rinse them clean before they scramble back onto the bank to dry.

“We need to go soon,” Virgil reminds them all gently once the sun has fully set, standing up and beginning to load the cleaning supplies back into Thomas’ and Patton’s wagon. Roman immediately moves to help him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder once they’re done. “Will you ride back in the wagon or with Khylon?” Virgil asks him, reaching up to cup his face, rubbing a thumb gently against his cheek.

“With Khylon,” Roman says, glancing back at the orange dragon—they seem to shimmer in the dusk, their head held high and eyes sweeping the sky. “And you?”

“I will go with Fico and the wagon,” Virgil says. “Be safe, alright? I’ll see you back at the house.” He leans up, pressing one last kiss to Roman’s cheek before heading back to Fico’s side. The green dragon limps slightly, but it isn’t enough to slow her—or make her any less merry, Roman notes, as she begins to talk cheerfully with Virgil once he returns to her side.

“Let us go,” Khylon says, extending their paw for Roman. “I bet Bethious that we could beat him home—I need at least one victory today.”

Roman laughs, climbing into their paw and then onto their back once he’s lifted there. They take off into the sky again, darting and weaving around Bethious as they glide through the warm summer air. Roman relaxes on their back, his eyes scanning the swath of stars that are beginning to appear above them—it’s beautiful. Everything is so, so beautiful, and he thinks that it isn’t possible to be any happier.

And then he looks down at Virgil, riding far beneath him with another one of their greatest (and greenest) treasures, and he  _knows_  it isn’t possible to be any happier than he feels in this moment.


End file.
